


Wayward One

by lune_etheree



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, BAMF Stiles, Derek Hale is a Failwolf, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Sheriff Stilinski, Kevin Tran Lives, Light Angst, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Monster of the Week, Multi, Paige (Teen Wolf) Dies, Purple Prose, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf) is a Failwolf, Stiles Stilinski & Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Cousins, Stiles Stilinski is Pushed Out of the Pack, Stiles Stilinski is a Winchester (Supernatural), lydia takes nobody's shit, post season 5ish (teen wolf), sam and dean are pissed about whats happening to their little cousin, set during season 9 (spn), shes a ghost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25033456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lune_etheree/pseuds/lune_etheree
Summary: Stiles Stilinski calls in reinforcements in the form of his cousins, two angels and his boyfriend when he's kicked out of the pack and his father gets injured by the latest monster of the week...
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall (past), Castiel/Dean Winchester, Derek Hale/Paige (past), Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Liam Dunbar/Hayden Romero, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale (Past), Stiles Stilinski/Kevin Tran
Comments: 30
Kudos: 454





	1. something wicked this way comes

Claps of thunder roared over in the empty street, pelting rain darkening the sidewalk of the silent suburb, bolts of lightning raining down on it from the overcast night sky, as if Zeus himself was hurling them at the sleeping families tucked up warm and safe from the storm in their beds. The howling wind blew small tornadoes of dancing leaves across neatly manicured lawns, yanking branches free from the trees and hedges bordering the properties. A greyish cast covered the blinding white half moon that shone high over the mostly sleeping town of Beacon Hills, California, illuminating the town from where it hung in the clouded, dark indigo sky.

A lone figure quickened his step on the sidewalk, clutching his his green chequered flannel around himself, in what looked like a gesture to protect him from the rain, but what was actually an attempt to conceal the long silver blade, infused with dead man’s blood, from view where it was strapped to his undershirt. The man - or rather, vampire - who had tailed him from The Jungle, Beacon Hills’ gay club, rounded the corner after his meal with alarming speed. The brunette, pretending to be spooked, ducked down the closest alley that would lead him to where he had parked his jeep, grazing his hand in his haste on the dirty brickwork that was scarred all over in fading graffiti, dents, and a dark substance that appeared to be blood.

Stiles Stilinski ducked into an alcove, panting hard and resting his hands on his thighs, concealed - for now - in the safety of the shadows. Or at least, he hoped he was - but then again, he was impulsive, ADHD addled teenager (although that wasn’t his own words - more like the words of the concerned older cousins who had trained him to hunt in the first place) against a superpowered, hunger driven vampire. Nope, to the unassuming vampire, the kid didn’t stand a chance, and he’d be an easy snack for the night. 

Technically, Stiles didn’t particularly have a plan, a trait he shared with his eldest cousin. Both went into these sort of situations head on, attempting to deal with the problem as quickly as possible, although if anyone asked either of them after the fact, namely two very concerned boyfriends and a despairing Sam, they’d both say they were working on it!

Temporarily hidden in the alley’s alcove, he unsheathed the sharp blade, laying in wait in the dark, trying to adjust his eyes to the light. Spotting a piece of brick that had clearly crumbled off the decrepit wall at his back, he picked it up, aiming it at the alcove opposite him. Hearing the vampire’s footsteps nearing the alley, he threw the brick across the alley, holding his breath as it bounced across the floor with a scraping sound, like panicked sneakered feet scuffing the floor as their owner tried desperately to hide. 

The vampire stalked into the alley and towards the sound, and Stiles launched himself off the wall and out of the shadows, slicing the blade cleanly through the other’s neck. The man went down instantly, and despite his feeble attempts at thrashing about, the dead man’s blood incapacitated him long enough for Stiles to decapitate him swiftly.

Wiping the blade clean on the vampire’s bloodied corpse, Stiles resheathed it and continued on silently down the alley, heading in the direction of where he’d parked Roscoe earlier in the evening.

It was just his luck that tonight was a Pack meeting at the rebuilt Hale House - or as the parents not in the know believed, a sleepover - and whilst he’d already said he’d be late because of he was helping his dad to fix up some things wrong with their kitchen, there was no doubt that they’d be able to smell the blood on him.

★

Walking through the Preserve’s underbrush, wrinkling his nose at the overly strong cologne he’d doused himself with to cover up the tangy scent of blood, he made his way past the Nemeton and towards the glowing yellow lights of the Hale residence that he could spot through the trees.

Behind him a twig snapped. He froze.

Then, he was pelted in the back with a sharp stone. He spun around, baring his knife towards the supposed threat.

A girl - long dark hair straggled, pale face smeared with black blood, the heavy purple bags under her eyes making them appear sunken into her skull, and what appeared to be an infected werewolf bite mark, oozing tar-like blood, engraved prominently into the whitened flesh of her exposed left arm - inched slowly towards him, skittish as a stray kitten, clearly trying to hide her fear of the boy in front of her. 

A ghost. Apparently not a malevolent one, but a ghost nonetheless.

Something about her seemed familiar - sure it was definitely nobody he’d known in his life, but he was getting a strange sense of deja-vu from the girl spirit.

“Who are you?”

The girl ignored him, her state almost like a trance as she stepped closer and closer, “It hides in the woods,” she whispered, and Stiles was unsure if she was talking to him or herself, “19, always 19…”

“What’s in the woods? Who are you?”

The ghost’s head remained looking at the leaf-littered forest floor, but her small, frosty cold hand grabbed his wrist in a vice like grip, “It’s always watching me,” she whimpered in anguish, “демон-каннибал. Псоглав.”

“Where I died... The killing tree. It can’t go there. Tell Derek.”

Realisation seeped into his bones like an ice cold bucket of water.

“Paige?”

Her head snapped up to meet his eyes at an inhuman speed, fear and recognition flashing across her face, before her spirit flickered out in the darkness, as if she’d never been there in the first place...

★

“Guys,” Stiles panted as he burst into the Derek’s living room, “I know I’m a bit late, but Derek, I saw-”

“Stiles.” It was sharp, cold, unattached - it was supposed to leave him no room for argument, reprimand him for something he couldn’t control.

He knew this was coming, knew it would hurt - but he could never have prepared himself for the pure agony and melancholy he felt weighing down his soul as he was exposed to the true extent of his quickly severing pack bonds. This was it - the beginning of the end.

What he had entered into looked sort of like one of those interventions you saw on talk shows. The Pack - people he _cared_ for and considered his _friends ,_ people he _fought_ tooth and nail to _protect_ \- were gathered in a half circle, sitting shoulder to shoulder like some kind of impenetrable werewolf wall in chairs clearly stolen from Derek’s dining room. 

Most of the Pack were blank faced and clearly unconcerned, Scott’s face showed an unusual sort of steely determination - the look of a boy way too up on his own ‘holier than thou’ high horse to see reality for what it was. A blur of grey actions and morals. Derek looked like a gruff, stroppy teenager in the middle of a tantrum as per usual, and Lydia appeared to be both furious and guilty at the same time, much to his surprise.

Stiles swallowed hard, trying to hide his wince. He could already tell who was going to deliver the killing blow. And it _fucking hurt_ like _hell_ that it was going to be coming from the two people in the Pack he loved the most.

Scott was his best friend, whom he had considered a brother since before he could even properly talk. And Derek - one upon a time he had been in love with Derek, until he saw him for what he truly was. 

An, albeit traumatised, man who thought he was better than everyone else simply because in the world of Derek Hale supernatural strength was power and the definition of weakness was human.

“Stiles,” Derek’s sigh was long suffering as he began what was probably a lecture, “You’re always late to pack meets, and when you are here you take none of it seriously. Your research is never helpful because it’s all over the place, and the fact that you’re human is a liability that’s putting the rest of us in danger.”

“You killed Allison and Aiden,” Scott butted in, scowling at him, clear disapproval in his tone, “So we’ve decided. You’re out of the Pack.”

_Snap._

Then, complete and utter agony blooming in his chest.

“I didn’t decide jack shit, Scott McCall.” Lydia snapped, before Stiles could say anything. She turned to look at him, “I couldn’t stop them Stiles. You’re my friend and I should have tried harder. I’m sorry.”

And then, through the pain of all the other pack bonds breaking, he felt one faint but warm and comforting bond strengthen slightly. 

Lydia.

He could tell she meant it, so he gave her a small, watery smile, “Don’t bother Lyds. I knew this was coming.”

Lydia huffed, before turning a frosty glare on the rest of the Pack, “You’re going to regret this. All of you.”

Stiles wasn’t about to let the Pack realise how much this was _killing_ him inside, so he took a page from Lydia’s book, his face smoothing out into a blank mask of indifference, his gaze turning colder by the second.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” Scott asked incredulously. Clearly someone had been expecting more of a reaction.

“Yes, that’s what I said. But no more coming to me for information. Do it yourselves. I won’t look out for you ungrateful assholes anymore.”

And then, with one final arctic glare, Stiles turned on his heel and left.

It was only once he was far enough away from the house that the wolves couldn’t hear that he allowed himself to cry.

And then his phone began to ring.

Blindly reaching for his phone through tears, he didn’t even try and read the caller ID through his blurry vision and just pressed it straight to his ear, “Hello?”

“Stiles... it’s your father. He’s been attacked.”

Unbridled terror washed through his body at Jordan's words, and he rushed towards his jeep.

It didn’t hit him until a few days later. _The date was October 19th._


	2. i've been running with the wolves

_The Following Week..._

It was a moonlit tradition, for the Hale-McCall pack - sans Derek, due to his seemingly unending need to brood in silence by himself - to drive down to Lydia's unused family lake house to spend the full moon. Which meant that the younger and newer werewolves in the pack, like Liam, who hadn't mastered full control yet, could safely wolf out without the rest of the pack having to go on a night long hunt around town for an out of control werewolf. 

Stiles - despite the fact that he was exiled and any assistance he had provided was apparently long forgotten - had already lived through it once with Scott and the rest of the pack didn't feel like going through it again, especially not with Liam, who could act like a puppy around the pack, but had the tiniest bit of trouble controlling his anger around other people.

That was a slight understatement.

The truth was, Liam's anger fuelled his strength and it was really useful in a fight, especially against another supernatural villain, hell bent on destroying Beacon Hills or gaining ultimate power.

Note to anyone and everyone: never piss off Liam or go up against him in a fight.

Bad, potentially life threatening idea.

They finally pulled up by the chic, modern oak lake house, Lydia parking the Volvo in the house’s adjoining garage.

Malia sighed in relief, the werecoyote's blinding, neon blue orbs eyeing the expansive forest around them as she practically leapt from the stuffy, cramped car.

Issac, a scarf wrapped tightly around his pale throat, so long it disappeared inside his woolen coat - who definitely didn't need either piece of clothing but wore both anyway - was out of the car next, and soon, everyone was piled onto the front porch waiting for Lydia to find her keys and open the front door.

"Where's Kira, Hayden and Mason?" Liam asked the group as they all bundled in from the cold night air through the front door, Scott visibly flinching at the mention of Kira, "They're supposed to be here by now, the moon's already up!"

Issac turned on the lights, illuminating the bottom floor of the house, Malia whipped all the curtains quickly shut and Lydia, somehow the last person to be let into her own house, shut the front door with a snap, blocking out the light of the wan, dusty moon.

Everyone shrugged at Liam's question - the three were all travelling to the lake in Hayden’s car, perhaps there was traffic? - and began grabbing mugs from the cupboard to make drinks. 

Lydia, in particular, was silent the entire car journey and planned on staying silent for the rest of the night - the only reason she was here was because they needed her family’s house and she didn’t feel like being blamed for having to chase a rampaging Liam through the Preserve all night. 

She still vehemently objected to Stiles being forced out of the Pack, especially considering the fact that he was the most loyal and concerned of all of them, and in her eyes the fact that he was human hadn’t mattered in the least originally, so why on earth it should matter now she had no clue. Whilst she knew her refusal to speak or participate wasn’t going to get that message through Scott’s thick skull, it would hopefully compute the fact that she was still very, very pissed off to his ignorant brain, and that she wasn’t going to let it go any time soon.

"But what if someone saw their eyes!" Liam carried on, desperate for an answer, even though he knew his other pack mates were as in the dark about it as he was, "What if someone tried to stab them with something silver! What if-"

Liam was cut short when the sound of a speeding bullet, like a train wreck, echoed through the silent forest, followed by a pained howl, and the awful screeching sound of a sword being drawn. The pack covered their ears in pain, their heads filled with the sounds of birds' caws, like screams, filling the silent night sky, and the flapping of wings as said birds flew away in alarm.

_Hayden._

Everyone gave each other a similar expression of panic and alarm, heading towards the door to find their missing pack mates, Liam getting their first and ripping the door open in horror as his girlfriend's howl once again echoed through the dense woodland.

Then a panting, out of breath, boy emerged from the shadowy trees, leaves and twigs gripping onto his off white jacket, his jeans dusted in dried and crumbling mud.

They all rushed towards him, Liam holding his best friend up, before he fell down from exhaustion.

"Need help... Hayden... And Kira," Mason breathed out very unsteadily, gulping in the cold night air, desperately trying to relay the information quickly and breathe at the same time, "Ambushed by..."

Issac held open the front door as Scott helped Liam haul Mason into the living room and onto the couch.

"Hayden..." Mason wheezed, slightly steadier this time, "She's been attacked."

  
  


★

  
  


The Pack, much to the horror of one Nurse Melissa McCall, burst through Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital’s doors trailing blood. A limp, mangled Hayden dangled precariously from a weeping Liam’s arms, her stomach oozing crimson from multiple gashes that were in the process of slowly healing. Too slowly.

Melissa rushed towards them all, yelling for help, and dragged Liam with her towards a gurney, ordering the rest to wait where they were.

Hayden was rushed off to an op room by a flurry of doctors, Mason gently pulling away a near catatonic, blood soaked Liam and sitting him down in the waiting room. They all sat in silence, unable to think of anything to say, bar Mason trying to comfort his stiff-looking best friend. 

Eventually, Melissa re-emerged, everyone breathing a collective sigh of relief when she told them Hayden was going to be alright, and telling them to wait for the cops to come and take a statement. It wasn’t soon after that that Deputy Parrish made an appearance to question everyone about how exactly Hayden was injured in the first place.

Confused as the rest of them, Scott eventually asked why he was there and not Sheriff Stilinski - it’s not like any of them had come up with any suitable explanation except for the plain truth considering the Sheriff already knew about the town’s supernaturals.

“Well Scott, you’re close with Stiles aren’t you? You know the Sheriff’s in the ICU, so I’ve taken over for him for now.”

If Scott’s look of shocked horror and everyone else’s apparent startled expressions were anything to go by, one would say they were almost concerned.

  
  


★

In the end, it was only Lydia who was indeed concerned enough about Stiles to go and check up on him and see if he was visiting the Sheriff. The others didn’t particularly care for Stiles in the first place, and Scott was still both too arrogant and too ignorant to admit to making a mistake and to looking Stiles in the face considering the state of his only parent’s health.

After asking Melissa the way to the Sheriff’s hospital room, she made her way to the third floor while Kira and the others gave a statement about an ‘animal attack’ at the lakehouse.

She was just in time to see five men she’d never seen in Beacon Hills before appearing out of thin air at the other end of the hall and going straight into that very room…


	3. it ain't over, i'm not done

Stiles had been sat vigilantly by his father’s beside, clammy hands nervously grasping his father’s cold, near lifeless one, when the help he had quite literally prayed for finally arrived through the door.

“Kev,” Stiles flung himself at the prophet, wrapping his boyfriend in a tight hug, “I’m glad you’re OK.” Glancing over the taller boy’s shoulder, he smiled at the archangel stood next to Sam, “Thanks, Gabe.”

Gabriel, who had come out of hiding to protect Kevin from being smited by an angel-possessed Sam a few weeks prior, gave him a mischievous smile, “No problem, kiddo.”

Cas and Dean grunted out hello’s to Stiles, ignoring pleasantries for the moment as they checked on the elder Stilinski. Cas laid a hand on his father’s pale forehead, trying to gauge what exactly was wrong with him. Stiles turned back to face them, completely missing the flash of strawberry blonde hair disappearing back down the hall.

“Well, Cas?”

“Noah’s got four broken ribs, a broken arm, stab wounds to his abdomen and serious bruising. He’ll live, but his healing will be a slow process,” Cas replied gruffy, his hand still hovering above the Sheriff’s head, “I can-”

“No, angel.” 

“Thanks Cas, but I think it’d be a bit difficult to explain why a man who’s been in the ICU for a week is suddenly all better. They’re doing surgery tomorrow.”

Cas nodded solemnly at the teen and sat down next to the Sheriff's bed between Dean and Gabriel.

“So little cousin, where’s this _ big bad  _ pack leader of yours, and the sonuvabitch you call your best friend? Need us to gank ‘em?” 

A collective shout of “Dean, no!” bounced off the walls of the room, loud enough that it echoed down the hospital hallway.

★

_ Two Days Later… _

“So get this,” Sam called from the lounge, grimacing as he watched Dean and Stiles messily devour a cherry pie together at the kitchen table. Kevin was pouring through the Argent’s bestiary - an online copy Stiles had managed to hide on his laptop before he was unceremoniously booted out of the Pack, wincing every now and then at how completely inaccurate some of the lore was on creatures he already knew about. 

Cas and Gabe were gone on urgent angel business and had left the Winchesters and Kevin to their own devices for a few days, and with the angels’ expert knowledge unavailable, they were forced to sift through Stiles’ various large tomes of supernatural lore to find the monster responsible for hurting Stiles’ father.

“Stiles you said that the ghost said something in Russian right?” He asked, spinning the laptop around to face his cousin, “Did it sound anything like this?”

Stiles’ eyes flitted across the screen, widening almost comically at the drawn monster snarling back at him. There it was, the creature Paige warned him about.  _ Псоглав. _

“Yeah Sammy, that’s what she said.”

“The creature that attacked Noah, also called a Psoglav, is a demonic mythical creature in Slavic mythology that’s part dog, part man and part horse.” Sam read, twisting the laptop back around to show Dean and Kevin the old fashioned illustration of the Psoglav snarling ferociously, baring its razor sharp iron teeth.

“A weretaur, you might say.” Dean snickered when he saw it, followed by an exasperated groan from Sam.

“It says here that in mythology it comes out of hiding once a month and takes a nearby human back to its lair.”

“Do you think silver wolfsbane bullets will work?” Kevin asked, skimming the rest of the text with interest, sparking up a minor debate between his cousins and boyfriend.

Meanwhile, Stiles was having a minor epiphany. “ _ Always nineteen. _ ” he repeated under his breath, mostly to himself, eyes glued to Sam’s screen.

“What was that Sti?”

He turned to face his eldest cousin, “When I saw Paige’s ghost in the forest, she told me ‘always nineteen’. What if she meant that this Psoglav goes hunting on the nineteenth of every month?”

“Well,” said Kevin after a moment of silence fell about the table, “That means we’ve got about three weeks to work out how we trap it and kill it.”

“Mhmm,” Stiles hummed compemplaitively, the slight ghost of a smile lighting up his face, “Scotty boy ain’t gonna like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoy, let me know what you think! Next chapter will be up soon! -audrey x


End file.
